


Midnight

by glorifiedscapegoat



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, post-reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 15:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19008847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorifiedscapegoat/pseuds/glorifiedscapegoat
Summary: Nezumi told Shion about his nightmares.And Shion…didn’t.





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted this to be longer, but I think it works as its own stand-alone piece.
> 
> There will be a second part!

Shion emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl. Silver light trickled through the floral curtains, glinting off the marble sink. Shion hadn’t bothered turning on the lights―the artificial bulbs hurt his eyes, and he didn’t want to call attention to himself.

          Nezumi hadn’t moved when Shion jolted awake. Nightmares plagued Nezumi’s subconscious most evenings, and after months of searching and experimenting, Shion had finally managed to find him an herbal sleeping medication that worked. Nezumi managed to stay asleep until morning most nights. Shion counted it as a victory.

          Shion’s nightmares were vivid in their own right. Flashes of a horrible memory. Blood painting crisp white walls in butterfly-wing arcs. Long-healed bullet wounds aching down to his bones. Pitiful victims with skeletal faces who spat at him and blamed him for surviving. A girl with the eyes of a goddess sneering at him behind a pane of glass. Shion saw too many things―sometimes all at once.

          Tonight, Shion had awoken and couldn’t tell the difference between the darkness of his bedroom from the endless night of the Correctional Facility. Nausea twisted through his stomach like a serpent. Shion had scrambled out of bed, throwing the covers down around Nezumi's ankles, and sprinted into the bathroom. The door banged behind him, and the sounds of his retching had echoed through the hall. None of it had disturbed Nezumi, a fact Shion was both grateful for and bitter about.

          He’d been there for almost an hour now. The tremors hadn’t stopped. He’d emptied his stomach of the dinner Nezumi had helped him prepare, and when there was none of that left to expel, he’d been left lurching painfully and spitting up bile. Tears dripped down his cheeks, and Shion didn't think he could stop them.

          Shion squeezed his eyes shut until he saw blotches of dark red and blue. Just a nightmare. It had only been a nightmare. One of many that plagued him when the sun went down.

          It had been months. Four months, specifically, since Nezumi had breezed back into his life. An entire season since Shion had dropped a plate of freshly made brownies and sprinted into those familiar arms, sobbing so hard he couldn’t even say Nezumi’s name properly.

          The nightmares weren’t new.

          But they weren’t any easier to deal with.

          Shion breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. Deep, steady breaths. Just like his mother had taught him the first time he’d woken her up. She’d come running to the sound of him screaming, finding him with the coverlet tangled around his legs, his hands clawing at his throat.

          Trembling and weak, Shion eased back from the toilet bowl. He pressed his skull against the cool marble of the sink. He and Nezumi preferred to keep the windows cracked in the summer. Cool air breezed through the gap in the glass, caressing Shion’s cheek like an old lover. He flattened his hands on the floor, felt the tiles beneath his palms. Let the darkness brush over him and remind him that the nightmares were simply that―nightmares. Nothing set in reality. Nothing more than dark images conjured in his subconscious.

          Shion carded his hands through his hair. His mouth tasted horrible. Now that he no longer felt he would be sick again―now that there was nothing else in his stomach to get rid of―he uncurled himself from the floor, flushed the toilet, and went to wash his face. He swished a bit of wintry mouthwash, wishing he could forget the sounds of women crying as their lives ended. Wished he could forget the scent of Nezumi’s coppery blood as a bullet shredded through his chest. Wished he could forget how Death tasted between his teeth.

          Nezumi didn’t wake as Shion crept back into the bedroom. In the summer, he slept without a shirt. Stretched out on his stomach as he was, Shion could see the muscles in Nezumi’s back. The dark burn scars cut into his flesh, illuminated by the moonlight. His loose hair fanned over the pillow, tangled by the fingers Shion had run through it when they’d had sex earlier that evening.

          Shion’s heart ached with love for him. He padded softly across the carpet. The sheets were cool, and Shion slipped in and curled up at Nezumi’s side. The sleeping pills worked, as Shion had intended. Nezumi’s breathing was deep and even. Sometimes Shion thought he heard a catch in it, but he knew if Nezumi was awake, he would say something.

          Since returning, Nezumi had been vocal about his nightmares. He sometimes omitted details, but he did speak about them. He wrapped his arms around Shion and held him tight after the worst of them. He let Shion reposition him so that he was tucked beneath Shion’s chin and held tight until he could fall back asleep. If the nightmares were bad enough, sleep would evade him, but Nezumi would let Shion stay awake with him and tell him pointless stories until the sun crept through the windows.

          Nezumi told Shion about his nightmares.

          And Shion...didn’t.

          It wasn’t for fear that Nezumi wouldn’t understand. He _knew_ Nezumi would. Nezumi had been in the Correctional Facility with him that day. Nezumi had seen and heard the same things that kept Shion awake at night. Nezumi had done things that Shion still saw beneath his closed eyelids—things that, if he were being honest, frightened him.

          Nezumi was, perhaps, the only one who could understand the horrible things Shion saw in his dreams. The only one who could empathize rather than sympathize because he had been there, too.

          And that was why Shion wouldn’t burden Nezumi with his nightmares. Nezumi had his own dark thoughts. His own demons. The sleeping pills might have helped, but nothing worked all the time. On those rare, bad nights, neither of them slept through to morning. Shion had seen the dark shadows beneath Nezumi’s eyes that he’d had to conceal with pale foundation because he had a show or a late rehearsal that evening.

          Nezumi had his own nightmares.

          He didn’t need to be bothered with Shion’s, too.

          Shion rolled onto his side and peered into Nezumi’s face. He slept with his head pillowed on his arms, most of his expression hidden aside from the dark curve of his eyelashes. Shion drew close to him, cold despite the summer heat wafting through the windows. He rested his hand on the small of Nezumi’s back, fingers overlapping the rough burn scars. Physical contact was better than simply holding himself through the night.

          Part of him wanted to wake Nezumi up. Wanted to let every horrible image spill over his tongue like water and unburden himself. Nezumi would understand.

          Shion knew that, if he were to shake Nezumi until he woke up, Nezumi would make everything better. Nezumi would pull Shion into his arms, silence the screams echoing in his skull, and grant him some peace.

          But that would mean waking Nezumi. That would mean pulling Nezumi from whatever pleasant images his subconscious conjured. That would mean telling Nezumi that Shion had been suffering on his own for months.

          And Shion just...couldn’t do that to Nezumi.

          Shion lay beside Nezumi, motionless. He listened to the sounds of Nezumi’s deep breathing. He watched the gentle flickers of Nezumi’s eyelids, his dark eyelashes dusting against his cheekbones. Shion grounded himself by watching and feeling Nezumi beside him. He watched the boy he loved and tried to forget how it felt to watch the world around him shatter into pieces. How it felt to die. How it felt to lay in silence, in the darkness, and wonder whether he would ever truly be able to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr! (glorifiedscapegoat)


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